The Three Lives of Lady Bluebeard: Chapter 1 - Part I

My
story begins with a grim prophecy that my mother told me when I was eight years
old: that I would undergo much hardship. Years later when I recalled the
prophecy, I asked her what that meant. She would tell me she had no recollection
of telling me such a depressing thing – and so it was forgotten.

When
I turned 20, I met a merchant who came to our village to trade with us. He was
tall man, with rugged good looks. His hair was black and he had a beard that
appeared blue in the light. We all called him “Bluebeard” for that was what his
name was.

One
day, Bluebeard approached me asking for my hand in marriage. Without discussing
the matter with my family I immediately agreed, for I yearned to leave the
village and see the outside world, and for the money (for my family owed a debt
to a neighbouring lord that was passed down from my grandfather).

The
first person I told, however, was Ling. Ling was mortified. She communicated to
me in writing and pictures that Bluebeard was not the sort of man to marry.

“But
I already agreed. I have even made a promise to wed to him by my next birthday.
Besides, he is a rich man. Grandfather’s debts could even be cancelled.”

Still
she would not agree.

I
told Bluebeard that it was customary for the groom-to-be to meet with the
family of his fiancée. A week after we engaged, he came to our home for supper
and announced our engagement.

“I
will take good care of your daughter.” Bluebeard promised. “I will even cancel
the family debt. You may even come to my home in Atlantia. It is only a two
day’s journey from Erdeenah.” Erdeenah was the kingdom we lived in. Our village
was near the border dividing Erdeenah from Atlantia.

Even
then, my parents refused.

That
night, I snuck out of the house and waited for Bluebeard at his wagon. There we
met, left for Alantia and eloped.

During
our first few months together, everything was wonderful. In fact it was so
wonderful that it was too good to be true. His home was a mansion filled with
every luxury that a girl could dream of. Every room was decorated with fresh
flowers; furnished with beautifully carved wooden furniture; porcelain, silver
and crystal graced our tables at every meal; wardrobe filled with garments made
of every silk, satin, linen, and lace that a man could find; a stable of the
finest breed of horses; and servants at our beck and call. Truly it was
heavenly. Yet as days pass, I felt unease. I could sense that something was not
right, but I did not know what it was.

Feeling
the need of something to do, I asked my husband if he would allow me the task
of making cloth, for I saw on my way to our mansion that there were poorer
neighbours nearby who could not afford clothing.

“We
could cloth them with garments made of my cloth. It would keep them from the
cold of winter and the harsh sun of summer.” I mentioned.

My
husband looked at me strangely, “Why would you go through such measures for
those strangers.”

“In
my village it is expected that we help those in need by sharing with others
what we have. This will be solely something I will provide from my hand and it
won’t cost you anything.” I argued.

My
husband slammed his fist on his desk and stood up. With one look he silenced
me. I was so shocked. He had never given me such a look before. Yet, I felt
that I have given my request at unreasonable timing that I decided not to
mention it for some time.

The
next day, my husband returned from his day of trade and called me to him.

“I
have a surprise for you.” He led me to a room in the west wing. There in a
nicely furnished room, sat a loom made of bright yellow wood.

“It
is yours for your weaving. I have had the servants arrange this place for you
as your workshop. You may weave to your hearts content.”

I
threw my arms around him filled with joy.

“However,
I have a request on my end. I would like you to give me your cloth so I could
have them tailored into garments. And be sure to show me every piece of cloth
you have woven.”

At
this I agreed.

Since that day I
wove cloths of every pattern, colour, and texture with my wings. Sometimes I
would combine linen and weave some wool in to make warmer materials. There were
times when I even went into the garden and took some herbs, wildflowers, or
grasses to weave into the material to give it a unique fragrance and texture.
When the cloth is done, I would take them to Bluebeard. He would examine them
and compliment me in my skills and technique. He then would give the bolts of
cloth I have woven to his private servants, who would send them to his private tailors.

One day I
wandered too far from the land of our mansion and saw the people who lived in
shacks. These were the same people whom I have seen on my way to the mansion
who had only rags and no shoes. I noticed that they were still wearing their
rags, and wondered why they were not clothes with the garments that Bluebeard
promised.

That night I
spoke to Bluebeard over supper, asking him what had happed to the bolts of
materials I have given him.

“They are still
at the tailors being made,” he explained. “You need not to worry, everything is
taken care of.”

“But I saw those
people are still wearing rags. Why is that?” I asked.

“Are you
accusing me of stealing you cloth?” he asked, his tone dropping a few degrees.

“N-no,” I
answered nervously. “You promised that those people would be clothed. I gave
you materials for the past three weeks. Why is it that they are still not
clothed?”

“These things
take time, Mitsy,” he said, calling my by my pet name. “The tailors are doing
the best they can. They want to make as many garments for those people so they
won’t have to worry for days to come. Be patient.”

With that I did
not question any further.

Three months
pass as my husband underwent some subtle – no, sudden, changes. He was not as
tender as he once was. He became a bit rough.

There was that
one time when I decided to help the servants around the mansion by cleaning the
house. As I dusted his study, I found a ring of keys on his desk. I just lifted
them from their place to dust the area of his desk, and placed the keys back
exactly as I found them. That evening, he came to us, the servants and I, and
roared furiously who touched his things. He was about to strike a servant, when
I intervened explaining to him that I only moved his keys to tidy his desk.
Everything was as they were found.

He warned us all
never to touch his things again and fired the accused servant. That same night,
I had trouble sleeping for I began to fear my husband.

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